by Blake Dixon
Starkey laughed. He had him. “Senior year. Damned good time,” he said. “So how’ve you been, Earl? Think I saw you on Facebook a while back.”
“Yeah, I tried that face thing once. Couldn’t figure much of it out, you know?”
“I hear you. It’s all a big mess.”
“I’m a mechanic these days,” Jude said. “Pulling in the big bucks, right? Yeah, not really. You gotta have your own shop to make the real money.”
Starkey frowned briefly. “Kinda look like you’re doing all right. That’s a sharp suit for a mechanic.”
“Shee-yit, I forgot all about the suit,” he said with a sheepish smile. He’d been prepared for this. “Yeah, my great-aunt passed away. Funeral this morning, and I haven’t made it home to change yet. Family gathering, you know how it is.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged. “Thanks. It was just her time.”
“The way it goes, huh?” Starkey was losing interest, starting to put golf balls on the shelves again. “Well hey, Earl, it’s good to see you,” he said. “Maybe we’ll go out for coffee sometime, catch up on old times.”
“Sure, sure. And I’m buying, Marv. But there’s something I wanted to ask real quick, since I bumped into you.”
The look he gave was uneasy. “What’s that?”
Jude glanced around, as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening. “I’m looking for a few tips,” he said in low tones. “You know. Can you help me out?”
He blinked. “Tips about what?”
“You know.” Another furtive look. “The little ones.”
“Little…” His mouth sagged open, and an ugly flush stained his neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed.
“Come on. You got away with it.” Jude gave a sloppy wink. “Got a lady down the street from me, single mom. Blackout drunk, too. And her little girl is … well. I figure I’d offer to fix the mom’s car or something, and then—”
“Stop!” Starkey’s expression said he hadn’t meant to shout that loud. Every head in the gift shop turned toward him. He shook his head, grabbed double handfuls of golf ball sleeves and started ramming them on the shelves. “You need to get away from me,” he whispered sharply. “I’m not that guy.”
“I can read, you know. I saw the newspapers.”
“They dropped the charges!”
“Yeah. So you got away with it, right?”
Starkey whirled on him and poked a trembling finger at his chest. Tears stood in the man’s eyes. “I never touched that girl,” he said in a high, choked voice. “Four years old, and they have her pick me out of a police lineup. When she’s got an uncle who’s my age, my size, the guy could practically be my brother. But they didn’t look at him. They ruined my goddamned life for nothing.” Another chest poke. “I can’t believe you’re saying things like this. You’re sick. I should call the cops on you, right now.”
Jude held both hands up and took a step back. “Hey, man. All right. Sorry.” If this was an act on Starkey’s part, it was a damned good one. He could probably rule him out as a suspect. “I was only jokin’,” he said.
“I have work to do,” Starkey said in stiff tones, and turned back to his golf balls.
Jude shuffled his feet, turned and walked toward the exit with his head hunched. The shoppers in the store avoided looking at him. That was good.
Once he cleared the gift shop, he straightened his posture and moved at a normal gait. Headed for the restrooms. He’d spend a good ten, fifteen minutes in there so anyone who’d seen the minor confrontation would forget about it or move on, and then he’d split for the parking lot.
There was only one occupied stall of five in the men’s room. A toilet flushed just as Jude walked in, the stall door opened.
And Lucas Arnell stepped out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The private security guard who’d been stationed at the D.A.’s office recognized Jude right away. He wasn’t happy about it, either. “Are you following Mr. Noakes?” he said, one hand straying toward the gun at his side.
“No, of course not.” Jude thought back to the last encounter with this guy, searching for the name he’d given then. It was something stuffy. Charles. “I’m a member here,” he said. “Charles Robertson.”
Arnell frowned. “You did say that before, I guess. Sorry.” He headed for the sinks.
Jude figured he might as well try to get the guard talking. Maybe he’d find out something helpful. But he had to handle this guy with care — Arnell was jumpy, over-eager to protect his charge. And Jude wasn’t currently armed. “Is Gary here?” he said casually when the guard finished washing his hands. “I’d like to talk to him, see how he’s doing.”
Arnell gave him the side-eye as he pulled paper towels from a dispenser. “You’ll have to try his office,” he said. “He’s not available right now.”
“So you’re off duty, then?”
“I’m busy.” Arnell dried his hands, dropped the wad of towels in the trash.
Jude sensed an undercurrent of frustration in the man, but it wasn’t directed at him. Interesting. He decided to change tactics. “Sorry for asking, but were you in the service?”
The man’s demeanor shifted — something he knew from experience was subconscious, instinctual. His stance locked slightly, his bearing straightened. If he’d been wearing a cover, he would’ve reached up to make sure it was properly positioned. Military training in action. “I was,” he said. “Army, six years.”
“Afghanistan?”
One eyebrow went up. “Yeah, that’s right. Do I know you?”
“Probably not,” Jude said. “I went over with the Marines.”
Arnell laughed. “You, a jarhead? You’re shittin’ me.” He drew a quick breath as he realized what he’d said, but then shrugged it off with a grin. “Hell. You must’ve heard worse language, if you were over there too.”
“Damn straight.”
“Oorah, brother.” Still grinning, Arnell leaned against the sink and gave him a speculative look. “I was headed out for a smoke,” he said. “Want to join me?”
He smiled back. “Sure.”
Jude let the guard take the lead, following him through the lobby and outside the building, off to the right and around the corner to a shaded overhang. Arnell produced a box of cigarettes, took one out and offered the pack to Jude.
“I’m good, man.”
He shrugged and lit up. “So what the hell’s a Marine doing at a place like this?” he said. “As a member, I mean. You golf?”
“Occasionally,” he lied. “My old man’s a member here. Mostly, I’m humoring him.”
“Well, there you go.” Arnell grinned as he dragged on his smoke. “Your old man a jarhead too?”
“Navy.” Not a lie, actually. But his old man was never going to get up and play golf.
“Mine was Army. Grew up in Quantico, figured I might as well stick with the life. For a while, anyway.” The guard shook his head. “This gig, though. Don’t go into private security, man. It’s a crap detail.”
Jude smirked. “Too much excitement?”
“Hell, no. Shit’s boring as latrine duty, know what I mean?” He released a slow plume of smoke. “You’d think a job like this, client’s got political enemies and they’re taking extreme measures against him, you’d be picking off Tangos all day. But there’s nothing. Zero action. Like, nobody comes around this guy.”
He had to admit, that was strange. Especially considering that he’d attracted an aggressive tail himself from day one on the case. But maybe the presence of security was enough to keep these guys from harassing Noakes directly — and threatening his daughter’s life was motivation enough. “So this is you on duty, then,” he said. “Handling all those threats.”
“Yeah, going out to smoke is about as exciting as it gets.” Arnell gave a rueful smile. “The client’s in the sauna right now,” he said. “Hahn, that’s my partner, he can handle it.”
Well, he’d been right that Noakes wasn’t at work. “I take it you don’t approve of saunas?”
“Don’t give a damn about ’em, honestly,” he said. “But I’ll tell you, if my little girl was missing, I wouldn’t be taking a goddamned steam bath at a country club. I’d be out there hunting down the bastards who took her.”
He did have a point. “Yeah, I would be too,” Jude said. “But guys like you and me, we’re different, you know? Gary, he’s just a civvie. Wouldn’t even know how to start hunting anyone down. In fact, I doubt he has any idea what he’s doing right now, or even why he’s here instead of somewhere else. He’s grieving and panicked.” He gave a half-shrug. “Something like this happens to normal people, they tend to shut down. Run on autopilot.”
Arnell grunted, considering. Finally, he said, “You got kids, man?”
“Nah. Maybe someday.”
“I do. Baby girl, nine months old. Her name’s Savannah.” He took a drag of the cigarette, blew it out harshly. “And if anyone ever touched her, I’d fucking rip them apart.”
Jude nodded. “I believe you would.”
Just then his phone buzzed and he excused himself with a held-up finger, walking a few paces away to answer. The screen said U.S.FED--LINEOUT, which could be any Agency-issue phone with the exception of Ray’s, since he had the director’s number programmed in. “Yeah?” he said into it.
“Come get me.” Kane’s voice was strained, exhausted.
“Where?”
“Outside the Chick-fil-A on Princess Anne, by the farmer’s market.”
Damn. That was probably ten miles from the Burlington, at least. They must’ve taken him somewhere else for the ‘test.’
“All right. Be there soon,” he said.
“Fanfuckingtastic.” Kane hung up.
Jude sighed and pocketed the phone. With Kane, it was impossible to tell whether he had good news or bad from his tone. He’d have to hear it in person.
He turned back to Arnell with an apologetic smile. “Gotta run,” he said. “I’m supposed to pick up a buddy at the airport.”
“All right, Robertson. Good to meet you.” Arnell held a fist out.
He bumped it. “Hooah, brother.”
“Oorah, back atcha.”
With a nod and a wave, Jude headed for the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kane was huddled over, seated the wrong way out on a picnic table bench when Jude pulled into the Chick-fil-A parking lot. The other man spotted the car, watched it like a hawk, but didn’t move until Jude pulled alongside the grassy area and rolled the passenger side window down.
Without a word, Kane got in the sedan. He moved slowly and favored his left leg. There was a gash on his cheek, the beginnings of a black eye. Injuries that hadn’t been there before.
This looked like bad news.
Neither of them spoke until Jude pulled back onto the highway, headed for Norfolk. Kane winced and adjusted his position slightly. “Nice wheels, Agent,” he said. “What happened to the Camry?”
“It’s a little busted. What happened to you?”
“Guess I’m a little busted, too.” He smirked and closed his eyes. “Relax. It was just a friendly welcome-back beating.”
“Jesus, Kane. Some goddamned test. How bad are you?”
“I’m fine, so drop it.” He glanced over briefly. “What about you?” he said. “Cut yourself shaving your knuckles?”
“You know what, you’re right. We should drop it.”
“Agreed. Anyway, I’m in.”
“Yeah?” Jude looked at him. “Did you find out anything?”
Kane snorted. “It doesn’t work that way. Look, I’ll tell you everything when we get back to the office. Assuming that’s where we’re headed.”
“We are. But you could just tell me now.”
“And explain myself all over again to Agent Useless? No, thanks.” He closed his eyes again, leaned his head back. “Don’t bother me until we’re there.”
Jude swallowed a sarcastic remark. At least Kane was getting somewhere — and at one hell of a cost. It was more than he could say for his own efforts. In a normal investigation, he might consider it progress to eliminate suspects like he’d done with Starkey.
But this wasn’t normal. All that mattered was finding Valerie Noakes.
And burning down whoever had taken her.
Natalie’s team didn’t know who Kane was or why he was here, and Jude wanted to keep it that way. He’d share information on the case if they got any. But keeping Kane’s cover intact was crucial — so that meant the less people knew about him, the better. When they got to the field office, he found an empty conference room a few doors down from the ready room and had Kane wait there while he grabbed Natalie.
It was after seven, and there were only four agents in the ready room. Natalie stood at the close end of the table next to Derek Wells, who sat in front of his laptop. They were looking at something on the screen, conversing in low tones. The other two, a young guy and a fifty-ish man, huddled at the far end inspecting a stack of printouts.
Natalie saw him come in and approached with an unreadable expression. “You get anything?” she said when she reached him.
“Not a lot. You?”
“Same.” She sighed and glanced back at Agent Wells, who was tapping at the laptop. “I had to initiate a fallback. It’s demoralizing, but if all else fails, we need to be ready to try anything.”
He knew what that meant. “You’re pulling the ransom together.”
“Yeah. We’re determining whether Noakes can swing that much himself, before I put in a funding request to the department,” she said. “He seems well off. Besides the house, he’s got a slip at the marina with a yacht he co-owns and a cabin on Lake Smith. Derek’s looking at the liquidation value of the cabin.”
“I doubt he’d be able to sell a cabin in four days.”
“No. But the department’s going to want hard value numbers with a funding request.”
“Of course they are.” Jude shook his head. Uncle Sam’s purse strings were notoriously tight. He lowered his voice and said, “Listen, I’ve got Kane in another room. He’s in with them, but he wants to give us the details at the same time.”
She perked up slightly. “Let’s go, then.”
“Yeah. But can you grab that first-aid kit you were using for me?”
“Oh, shit. Are you okay? I told you not to move around too much—”
“I’m fine.” He held a hand up. “Kane isn’t.”
Some of the color drained from her face. “Please tell me he didn’t get shot.”
“I don’t think so. He’s … well, you’ll see.”
“Great.”
She hurried away toward the small office, went inside. A minute later she emerged with the first-aid kit and a six-pack of bottled water. When he gestured at the water, she shrugged slightly. “In case he’s — er, it’s better than Scotch,” she said.
“Right.”
He brought her to the conference room. Kane was standing at the window with his back to the door, one arm folded across his waist, staring at the onset of twilight over the city outside. The jacket he’d been wearing was draped on the back of a chair, along with both holstered guns. He turned when the door closed, lowered his arm and took a few steps away from the window. “Agent Moore,” he said. “What, still no steak?”
For the first time, Jude noticed the dark, wet stain along the right side of the black T-shirt he’d borrowed that morning.
Natalie saw it at the same time. “Oh, my God. What happened?” She headed toward him, dropping the kit and water bottles on the table as she passed it. “Is that blood?” she said, reaching for his shirt.
Kane went still.
Jude processed what was going to happen in about half a second. He was already going toward them when Kane moved — grabbed Natalie’s wrist, wrenched the arm up and forced her to her knees. His other hand reached for the gun that wasn’t there,
and then changed direction to draw back with a balled fist.
The man was almost as fast as he used to be. Which meant he’d gotten even faster before they locked him away.
Acting on instinct, Jude drew his Beretta. “Let go.”
Kane whipped his head aside to face him. Pure, murderous rage etched every line of his features and burned from his eyes.
“Now.” Jude’s finger found the trigger.
“You got it, Brutus.” The rage vanished like a switch had been flipped, and he turned a cold gaze on Natalie. “And you. Don’t touch me,” he said, opening his fingers.
She jerked her arm back, stood quickly and glared at him. “Right back at you. I hope you bleed to death, you crazy bastard.”
“There it is.” His smile was as cold as his stare. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’m fine.”
“Sure. Just like him,” she said, gesturing at Jude. “He got himself shot earlier.”
Kane looked at him. After a beat, he said dryly, “You mean you weren’t shaving?”
“It was one bullet, and my car got in the way.” Jude holstered the gun, already feeling like an asshole for drawing on Kane. He smirked and added, “I’m fine.”
“Well, that’s terrific. You two are just a couple of fine men, aren’t you?”
In the space of her surprised silence as she realized what she’d actually said, Kane laughed. There was something close to real amusement in the sound. “Not sure about Wyland, but I’m a fine man for damned sure.”
“He is,” Jude said. “Just ask any woman in Saigon.”
“You remember that, do you?” Some of the strain eased from the rigid lines of Kane’s body, and he took a casual step back to lean against the window — though Jude suspected the movement wasn’t as casual as he let on. “Sorry about that, Moore,” he said. “Old habits die hard and all.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She cleared her throat and averted her gaze for a minute. “So Jude says you’re in with the mercs.”
He nodded. “No details yet. They’ll give me those tomorrow night when I meet up with the team leader. Apparently they have a big, active project going on right now, and they can use a few more hands on.” He looked straight at Jude. “It’s political. And time-sensitive.”